


In Your Room

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, R/NC-17 - Brown Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-20
Updated: 2008-07-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 17:19:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12437802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: Sam puts on a show for Gene, in his office late one night on his desk. Gene of course, runs the show and gets one happy ending of his own.  Hehe.





	In Your Room

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Written for severinne, who shares my filthy brain : ) And betad by dragonlit who is a goddess ;)

They stumble out of the lift when the doors open, a messy display with their near desperate tangle of lips and limbs. Their mouths crash chaotically as Gene drives Sam up against the nearest wall, Sam throwing himself against it harder than the has to, his skin humming with energy, his body screaming for hard contact. He whimpers, an almost indignant little sound, when Gene backs away to lean against the opposite wall. 

 

 

Gene leers at Sam from across the hall, momentarily needing the distance though his fingers itch with wanting to touch Sam, to stroke against that static like heat. He wants to see Sam, to look at him the way he won’t, the way he can’t during the harsh light of day. His eyes move slowly up and over Sam’s slim body, from the strong legs wrapped in their tight denim, over the obvious bulge trapped against that same denim, up the thin torso covered in cheap polyester and worn leather, to the graceful, exposed neck and gorgeous, flushed face. 

 

 

Sam holds Gene’s gaze as he drags his hand up slowly over his own length, moaning obscenely at the touch, putting on a show for Gene. Gene is torn between wanting to shove that hand away and replace it with any part of his own body, and wanting to take advantage of Sam like this; wanton and impulsive, aggressive but yielding. Sam moans again, vulgar and loud and Gene’s mind is made up for him in that moment, the need to watch Sam come undone suddenly unbearable. He moves on unsteady legs, walking backwards towards his office, enticing Sam with nothing more than a heated look, an unspoken promise of knowing what he needs, of what comes next.

 

 

Gene stops at the door to his office, grabbing Sam in a brutal embrace, not so much kissing him as breathing him in. He backs him into the desk, lifting him onto it, allowing Sam to wrap his legs around him as stuff falls off the desk around them, papers and files and pens and procedure all crashing to the floor, forgotten to the dark in favour of something more anarchic. Gene tears himself away once more from Sam, walks around the desk and sits in his chair, in what could rightfully be called his throne. Sam swings around to face him, almost crawling on the desk and though he is fully dressed, Gene is sure he has never seen him stripped so bare. 

 

 

The room is hot. It feels dark and isolated from the rest of the world, like they are the only two souls left, and for all Gene knows and cares they could be. What matters now is this, them, here. Gene stands to shrug off his jacket and loosen his tie, reaching between Sam’s parted legs to open a drawer and pull out the good stuff, the celebratory drink saved for special occasions, sure that this qualifies. He opens the bottle, takes a swig and runs his fingers over Sam’s thigh before moving in closer and holding the bottle up to Sam’s mouth. 

 

 

“Drink,” Gene demands as he tips the bottle and watches the liquid pour into Sam’s mouth, his tongue greedily, messily drinking it down, remnants trickling down his chin and running onto his neck. With the bottle back at his side, Gene leans Sam over the desk, running his tongue over the trail of sweet warmth, biting at Sam when he feels a hand wedged between them, knuckles dragged roughly against his cock. He brings them both back to an upright position and traces his fingers over the back of Sam’s hand before he sits down, eyes intense and boring into Sam, alternating between the hand at his crotch and his face full of wanton desire.

 

 

“Lookit you, Sammy...rubbin’ all over yourself. Gorgeous creature you are.” He purrs, voice full of whiskey and smoke and lust. Sam stutters at the sound; sweet, sinful music to his ears. “My gorgeous creature, ain’t that right?” 

 

 

“Y-yes, God, yours...” Sam stutters some more, his hand moving in a more fierce way now.

 

 

“Good boy.” Gene said, pulling his cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “I want you to show me. Can you do that for me, Sam?”

 

 

“Come over here and let me show you,” Sam pleads in a way that brings Gene up out of his chair and over to him, but the thought of Sam on his desk, in this place, stroking and bringing himself to the brink for Gene is too much to pass up. Sam like this is a rare and golden treat. 

 

 

“Not like that, Sam.” Gene whispers smooth in his ear, his breath ghosting over the tender skin. “I want to see the things you do in your shitty little flat when I’m not there. I want to watch you hang on my words and feel with my skin, here in this room. I want to think of you there on my desk, in my office, moaning like my own private little whore every time I sit at this here chair. I want you to blush like a virgin on her wedding night every time you walk in here.” Sam shudders as goose bumps run up and down his skin, each and every word sliding past Gene’s lips and into his ear pushing him further, making him want nothing more than to do this, to please Gene.

 

 

Sam smiles slyly at Gene, an innocent sort of thing that belies the true nature of the look. He plays along, coaxing and teasing Gene with his own words and actions, fingers slowly unzipping his jeans. “Is this what you want?” he asks, voice catching as his fingers make heated skin to skin contact. “You want me to touch, stroke...the way I do every night you’re not with me?” He curls his fingers around his heated length, one smooth, long stroke as he continues. “God...On display here, for you, like a prize. That what you like, Gene?”

 

 

Gene swallows hard and nods as he lights up a cigarette and takes a long drag, eyes never leaving Sam. He exhales, leans back in his chair and settles in for the show. “Pull them down. I want to see.” He gestures towards Sam’s unzipped pants. “Slow like. Not all the way off, just enough.” 

 

 

Sam pulls them down as far as mid thigh, the too tight jeans now acting like a restraint. He spreads his legs as far as he can, his feet no longer touching the floor. He feels exposed, lewd like this, pants undone and dropped halfway down his legs. The rest of his clothes are intact, causing his body to feel overheated and constricted. He brings his hands up to his slim fitting shirt, over the open collar where he traces along his collarbone before fingering over the top button, watching Gene, waiting for instruction.

 

 

“Undo them top buttons,” he demands as Sam unthreads the cheap plastic from the polyester. “Slide the shirt open a little. And the leather stays on.” Sam bites his lip, pulls his shirt open and thinks he might not ever take the jacket off again. “Good. Play with your nipples.” Sam hesitates as he finds the sensitive flesh hidden under his vest, lightly running his fingers over the hardened nubs. “Harder, the way I do it for ya', Sammy.” Sam pinches, twists a little and moans as the pleasure shoots right down his body. “That’s right, such a tart, likes it a little rough. Isn’t that right?”

 

 

“Yes...yes,” Sam answers and Gene is asking him to pinch harder, to bring his other hand to his cock and squeeze, lightly at first, so light it hurts. 

 

 

“Good boy. You can stroke it now, slow and gentle like, the way you do to me at first, with those soft hands. Come on Sam; show me how it’s done.” Sam traces his fingers up his length, slower than he might otherwise, understanding the urgency in Gene’s voice, the need to have this. He is no longer feeling with Gene’s skin but in his mind he is feeling Gene’s skin, running his fingers along the thick velvet heat. His laboured breathing rings in his own ears as he struggles to keep his eyes open, to watch Gene watch him. 

 

 

Gene takes a last drag on his cigarette before he tosses it to the floor and stubs it out with his foot, leaning forward, elbows on his knees for a closer look at Sam. He takes it all in, the flush and sheen of sweat covering the exposed flesh, the rock-hard, dark-pink cock caressed by elegant fingers and a quick hand. “The other hand, bring it down, play with your balls.” Sam does as he’s told, shifting as much as he can, running his hand over his sac, shifting places again, once more feeling as if Gene is touching him, manhandling him. 

 

 

There is no rhythm to Sam’s method and Gene loses himself in that moment, watching him so close to the edge, as undone as he’s ever seen him. There are no words from Gene, just the sounds of Sam pounding flesh against flesh until he begs. 

 

 

“Gene...” Sam pleads, the word coming out in a stutter of breath, erratic and uncontrolled. He is so close, needs to hear those words as much as Gene needs to hear him ask. “Gene...please...”

 

 

“Come for me, Sammy, my gorgeous little slut. Feel my hands on you. Let me hear it...Let me hear you,” Gene soothes as Sam throws himself back flat against the desk, hips bucking into nothing, a string of obscenities leaving his lips as he finally reaches that crescendo, body convulsing with the brute force of his orgasm.

 

 

Gene is up and out if his chair the instant it happens, fingers digging under Sam’s arched back, pulling him upright, driving his tongue into Sam’s mouth and not allowing him the come-down, working the pleasure over with more heated words, pet names and promises of a reward for being such a good boy. 

 

 

“You deserve your own reward,” Sam manages between kisses, “for being such a good instructor, telling me what to do and how to do it and all.” Sam chuckles, low and throaty the way Gene likes it.

 

 

“A reward, you say? I like the way you think, Sammy boy. What’d you have in mind?” Gene asks as he allows Sam to push off the desk against him and force Gene back into his chair. 

 

 

“I don’t know...” Sam says as he drops as gracefully as he can to his knees, pants still bunched up around his thighs. “Maybe something you’ll think about every time you sit in this chair?” Sam continues as he fingers the button on Gene’s pants. “Something I’ll blush like a virgin over every time I walk in this room?” He adds, unzipping the pants and immediately covering Gene entirely in a wet, warm heat, delighting in the primal groan it causes, moaning around him and looking up at him as hands fist tight in his hair. Gene looks down at him and that’s all he needs to push him into his own sweet release, eyes open to watch as Sam drinks him down, gladly taking all Gene has to give, savouring him as if he were a favourite treat. 

 

 

They stay there like that for some time, Sam’s face nestled against Gene’s thigh and Gene’s hands in Sam’s hair, neither willing to move, to face the dawn that will inevitably break. Sam soon hears the unmistakable sound of snoring and stands on wobbly legs while he pulls his pants up and looks around the quiet, dark room, a small pang of something washing over him as he sings a favourite song from the future.

 

Will you let the fire die down soon, or will I always be here, your favourite passion, your favourite game, your favourite mirror, your favourite slave....

 

I’m hanging on your words, living on your breath, feeling with your skin, will I always be here?


End file.
